


Oh Lord, Heal this Stitch...

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley has issues, Crowley knits, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Perfectionist Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: Crowley fails at wholesome hobbies





	Oh Lord, Heal this Stitch...

It had been a hideous argument. Words were said, old grievances dug up. Aziraphale wasn’t even sure how it started, but he had plenty of time to mull over how it had ended. Crowley hissing spitefully, telling him to “moulder away here like one of your books.” Angry swaying hips, the door slamming.

And then silence, for a week. No sign of Crowley, no phone call to offer an apologetic lunch date. Aziraphale wondered if he should be the one to extend the olive branch - but Crowley’s words had hurt him. So he vengefully mouldered among his books, cataloguing, filing, and glaring reproachfully at Crowley’s usual favourite decorative lounging spot, on the sofa warmed by the sun through the window.

Doubtless Crowley was sleeping all this time, without the common decency to be the least bit upset. No guilt, no responsibilities, just Anthony J. Crowley, looking out for Number 1.

It was 3am on Thursday, and Aziraphale was fuming his way through a first edition Jane Austin. He was feeling positively miserable. When the phone rang, he jumped a little, told himself to control his _silly_ emotions, and answered on the fourth ring.

There was nothing but sobbing on the other end of the line. Aziraphale panicked. This was not what he had expected. “Crowley? Crowley, are you ok?”

“’Zira… ‘m sorry. I tried - tried to fix… I had to cut - to make it better. _I couldn’t make it better.”_ More sobbing.

Aziraphale tried to answer, to get more sense out of him. But Crowley wouldn’t say anything, just kept crying and mumbling.

He’d always known Crowley’s mind had a dark side. Not in a demonic way, just… Crowley had issues. Too much drink, too reckless, too despairing when things went wrong. Aziraphale was now ashamed to think of the pride with which he’d thought he’d fixed that. That just by being with the angel, Crowley would miraculously get better. He should have been more careful, should have kept him closer. He shuddered at the mental image of a tartan thermos. Did he really believe that Crowley wouldn’t have kept back one little piece of insurance?

Keeping Crowley on the line, praying and gabbling for him to just hang in there, Aziraphale miracled himself across to the demon’s flat.

Crowley was lying curled into himself on the floor, clutching a piece of light blue fabric. There was no blood, no tartan thermos, just a distraught demon and a number of empty bottles.

Aziraphale crouched down, confused. He laid a hand on Crowley’s back. “Dearest, talk to me. What’s happened?”

Crowley uncurled a little, and sniffed. “‘Zira…?”

“It’s me, love. Can you sober up for me?”

Crowley nodded, and took a minute to focus. He rolled over to sit up more, hugging at his knees.

“What happened here, Crowley?”

The demon paused to consider how best to answer. In the end he turned, and passed Aziraphale a book wordlessly. The cover showed _A Legacy of Shetland Lace._

Aziraphale remembered the argument now. Crowley had taken up knitting, which was _adorable,_ especially when he sat hunched in a chair, concentrating furiously, and muttering about twisted stitches and other more arcane expressions. Aziraphale loved seeing his demon take up such a creative hobby.

Then it had all gone wrong. Aziraphale had requested a gift: a hand knitted jumper. And Crowley had become agitated, saying something absurd about a _sweater curse. _ It had been ridiculous, some urban legend about gifted sweaters causing breakups… And Aziraphale couldn’t see why Crowley wouldn’t want to make a simple token of affection like that.

Apparently, this was why. Aziraphale did his best to comfort his demon snot monster. He made soothing noises, and rubbed the demon’s back, until a while later Crowley was able to lift his head and speak.

“I made you this. It was _finished_ and it was _perfect, _and then I spotted this yarnover in the wrong place, and I thought I could fix it…” He gestured at a pair of scissors.

Aziraphale took the piece of knitted fabric from him gently, and spread it out on the floor. It was a large lace shawl, in cornflower blue, and quite quite beautiful, except for one large, laddered hole.

“Ok, we can fix this. Now, what’s it supposed to look like?”

Crowley flicked through the book, and pointed at a photograph and a chart. “Like that.”

“So this bit should be a mirror image of that? Well, that doesn’t look too tricky to do.”

The angel stroked his hand over the shawl, and the unravelled ends knit themselves back together perfectly.

Crowley choked back a last sob. “Those bits reminded me of your feathers,” he said, as if that explained why they were both now sat on the floor, tear tracks on their faces, staring at a blue scarf.

“It’s beautiful,” said Aziraphale. “Is it for me?”

“Yes,” nodded Crowley. “I couldn’t make you the jumper you wanted, because it says on Ravelry that if you knit a jumper for your boyfriend then they’ll leave you… but I thought this would be almost as good.”

“You made this in just a week?”

Crowley nodded again, and showed him his calloused fingers. “I didn’t sleep…”

Aziraphale sighed at his lunatic demon, and spread the scarf between his arms. It was light and cloud-soft, barely even there at all. He draped it over his head like a veil.

“How do I look?”

Crowley smiled radiantly. “You look perfect, Angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> [The scarf](https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/voxter-scarf)
> 
> Please never take a pair of scissors to your heirloom knitting, unless if you *really* know what you're doing!
> 
> Title by valvopus <3


End file.
